


Star Trek:  Black Box: The Final Flight of Major Bluntschli

by triolamj



Category: Military SciFi, Space Battle - Fandom, Star Trek
Genre: Jotunheim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:39:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21730555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triolamj/pseuds/triolamj
Summary: A Star Trek short story with non-canon characters and non-canon locations, set during and after the Dominion War and beyond the end of the Deep Space Nine television series.Colonel Johannes Bluntschli of Starfleet Intelligence is finally visiting the Ice Age planet of Jotunheim to unravel a mystery: his father's survival of the battle that raged in orbit above it during the Dominion War.  More importantly, he's there to bring one of his father's dearest comrades back home.





	1. Chapter 1

BLACK BOX:  
THE FINAL FLIGHT OF MAJOR BLUNTSCHLI

by 

COL Max "Mariachi" Triola (SCC 67845)  
302nd Marine Strike Group, USS Zavala

(June 2018)

The following is my submission to the Starfleet Marine Corps Academy to complete the School of Aerospace course AE-301.

black box - (noun) 1. a self-contained unit in an electronic or computer system whose inner workings need not be known to understand its function; 2. an informal name for flight data recorder or flight voice recorder (which see).

"Herr Bluntschli, what is a disco ball?" 

"Fritz, Fritz, Fritz, you've never danced the night away under a disco ball?" laughed the older man swallowed up by the hooded expedition coat. "You've never shook your booty to the pounding beat of "She's A Brick House" or "Disco Inferno"? How has this planet escaped the scourge of "Saturday Night Fever"? Herr Bluntschli exclaimed. The tall Starfleet officer smiled across at his young guide in the way that Fritz recognized as more gentle teasing. Fritz had the feeling that when he said "fever", the colonel wasn't talking about an actual disease. Bluntschli continued in his professorial way, "A disco ball is a sphere made up of mirrored facets that you hang from the ceiling of a dance hall. While you play dance music you spin the ball and shine multicolored lights on it which reflect onto the crowd as they gyrate beneath it. That is a disco ball", he said holding a large imaginary sphere in his gloved hands. "A black box, traditionally, was a large rectangular case", his hand gestures imitated the shape of a tool box with a long carrying handle, "painted bright orange like my coat, not black, so that it would stand out against snow or sand and under water. Ironically, though, for space-going vessels they look like disco balls. The spherical shape is to help with structural integrity. The shiny duranium plating and the facets catch sunlight and reflect it back in a way no natural object can in space. That increases the black box's albedo so it stands out against the interstellar dark or a planet's surface."

"When we find the black box and the lifepod, I'll arrange for a celebratory dance in the salon complete with a disco ball. But first" he gestured at the vast, white expanse of snow flowing beneath the shuttlecraft, "we have to find them." 

Mission Log, Stardate 2375-06-01, Major Johannes Reinhard Bluntschli of the USS Saratoga-B speaking. Today we have been briefed on our next objective, the M-class planet Jotunheim in the Asgaard IV system, just inside Sona'a-occupied space. Asgaard IV's asteroid belt is rich in yrdium, the key element in the manufacture of ketracel white. A thick layer of yrdium dust lies just underneath the glacial sheets on Jotunheim, deposited by a long ago asteroid strike on the planet. The Jem'Hadar and the Sona'a are strip mining the sheets to retrieve the yrdium for a ketracel refinery at the equator. The Jem'Hadar have stationed a battleship in geosynchronous orbit above the refinery to defend it. Given that the Dominion has lost almost all of its other ketracel factories, the admiral has ordered the Saratoga to break off from the Sona'a campaign and target this one. Of the 4 shipboard flights, ours will be the first wave and release a salvo of photon torpedoes at near range to soften the mothership's shields. We'll then engage the mothership's fighter escort once the torpedoes are away. The second and third flights will do the same, exploiting any damage we cause and joining us against the defenders. The fourth flight will defend the Saratoga as it brings its phasers and torpedos to bear on the mothership and bombs the refinery from orbit. I'll lead Alpha flight, Flammen and Citron, the two brothers from Neu Danmarck, will lead Bravo and Charlie flights, and FX will lead Delta flight. We have seven ship-days until launch and we'll spend most of it in the holodeck running simulations. Better to "die" in training than "die" for real. End mission log, open personal log. My mail finally caught up with me. Sweet video from Vater und Mutter; captured a still from it and printed it onto a ceramic cling for my cockpit. Julietta did them one better and sent a high-rez pin-up poster of herself in costume. Hard to believe that females on early Federation ships wore skants that short and boots that high. Young Johannes drew a beautiful picture of an F-26 Eagle just like mine soaring above the Southern Alps; high noon with the Lesser Jungfrau and Greater Jungfrau rising in the background. Johannes sent another pic along of his newest work in progress: Flammen and Citron, dressed like ancient Earth's Vikings with long braids of hair, swords hanging from their belts, and battle-axes in their hands. He captures their faces with just a few lines and anybody who knew them would recognize the grim warrior smiles ready for the battle to begin. I hope he'll have a chance to hone his talent. Gott in himmel, I wish this war was over. End personal log.

With the shuttlecraft safely parked in its hangar, the colonel and Fritz stamped the snow off their boots, hung their long, insulated coats in the welcome room, and then made their way through the inner door and down along the hall to the lodge's conference room. The park rangers had given up their smaller salon so that he would have a headquarters for his search efforts. He placed his PADD-3 on the table and unfolded it to its full size and pressed the power switch to 'on'. While he waited for the PADD to accept his handprint and load the welcome screen, he contemplated his next steps. The colonel had been planning this trip for years, going over the old mission logs and simulations that survived the battle. The science officer of the M/V Aarhus had taken as many sensor readings as they could while the cargo freighter was approaching the planet, right up until they transported him to the surface. They had transmitted the data to Jotunheim alongside his transporter beam then continued on their way to Niflhiem. There they would drop off medical supplies and pick up rare metals. In two weeks, they would swing back as part of a long circuit of stops and pick him up whether his search was successful or not. Now that he was on the ground he was beginning to grasp just how difficult his quest might be.

Mission log, Stardate 2375-06-04. Major Bluntschli. The practice with the simulators is worrying. We try to make them as real as possible and sometimes we try and prepare for the worst possible situation by including it in the simulation. We are taking too high a percentage of losses without destroying the factory and in some scenarios we even lose the Saratoga to counter-attacks. We may have to rethink our strategy. A plan of battle only survives up to the minute when you make contact with the enemy. End mission log. 

"Jolie, project the data from the sensor map." The PADD's holospike extended upward from its middle and projected a 3-D topographic map from its tip across its flat rectangular surface. The sensor data showed several minor debris fields and one huge one, all strung out along the equator. The destruction of the ketracel white refinery had created a massive crater which immediately drew Bluntschli's attention. The surviving gun cameras recorded visuals of a single hit by a stick of photon torpedoes but the shape of the damage indicated that the refinery had survived that bomb run with its force field reduced by half but intact. Then a second explosion of some sort had smashed into the refinery and ignited its catalyst towers causing the crater. This meant that there were inconsistencies in the mission logs or at least gaps that hadn't been filled in. The refinery was a puzzle but not the puzzle he was there to solve. The minor debris fields would be Starfleet craft that had fallen to the surface from the battle in orbit or that had run at the refinery and been knocked out of the sky. Or they could be Jem'Hadar craft knocked out of orbit or that had left orbit trying to intercept the Saratoga's fighter/bombers. Duranium was the key, he realized. The black box was made of duranium and duranium was used in both Starfleet and Dominion craft. Maybe the Dominion used a different type of duranium in their craft. "Jolie" he asked "are there any significant differences between duranium manufactured within the Federation and duranium used by the Dominion worlds?"

"Yes, colonel" the PADD replied. "Duranium manufactured for the Dominion is formed using a method of plating that leaves a magnetic signature on the metal much like a planet's magnetic pole leaves its signature on minerals when they are formed." 

"Jolie, tag the Federation duranium blue and the Dominion duranium red."

"Processing. Some duranium traces are of insufficient size to determine manufacture. Some debris are of insufficient size to determine composition. Displaying results."

The topographic map rippled and small patches of blue and red spatter fluoresced against the white layers. Smaller patches of grey marked indeterminate debris. Huge blobs of red inside the crater clustered around a pinpoint of deep blue. Curious and curiouser, thought Bluntschli. Then another anomaly caught his eye: a smaller splash of red with another dark blue spot at its center more than 20 kilometers away from the crater in a line with the angle of approach by the Starfleet attack craft. He looked over the rest of the map, his eyes running along a line stringing all the splotches together, and lighted on a defect in the terrain in the low hills above the refinery's location. That's how they did it, he said to himself. Ingenious; risky but ingenious. And I think I know whose idea it was.

Mission log, Stardate 2375-06-06. Major Bluntschli. Starfleet Intelligence has passed on the grim news that the Breen have deployed a power-damping weapon that stops Federation and Klingon craft dead in the water. FX and Triolus, the armorer, are scouring the archives for weapons that won't be effected by the power-damper and still damage a starship. The captain has immersed himself in historical vids of the Earth's War in the Pacific with an emphasis on aircraft carrier warfare. I've been working through a biography of Manfred Von Richthofen, a historic fighter pilot also from Earth, looking for tactics that will give us an advantage. Our vessels are evenly matched with theirs but Jem'Hadar reflexes are so much quicker than our pilots' even when we're helped by computers and technology. Maybe somewhere in all the blood and death that sent my ancestors away from Earth, I can find a way to save my pilots and my planet. Just received word that further messages from home will be delayed until after the mission, held up at the task force flagship. We'll be running silent for the last few days and minimizing our emissions and warp signature to ensure the element of surprise. Flammen and Citron's flights are flying point, scouting ahead for stray enemy craft or listening posts. Our turn will be tomorrow. End mission log, open personal log. Put my seniority to good use and took the night shift for the captain last night. Entered merit awards for all my squadron into the log along with a few comic ones mixed in like the Order of Pulchritude with Nebular Clusters for Julietta and the Sword of Squalor for FX. I made Johannes an honorary cadet and assigned him to Astrogation and Stellar Cartography. I also made a holovid wishing Vater and Mutter a happy wedding anniversary; the whole bridge crew chimed in, making the same wish in at least 5 different languages besides Fleet English and my Neu Deutsche, Francais, and Italiano. End personal log.

The colonel steered his rolling duffel down the hall to the guest room and laid out his things for the next day. He joined the rangers for their evening meal and was delighted to find they all had an intense interest in the Battle of Jotunheim, the Saratoga-B, its predecessor the Saratoga-A lost at Wolf 359, and the men who had fought in the battle. Over a meal of chicken cordon bleu, roasted vegetables, a bottle of Merlot, and chocolate bars from his home planet of Helvetia, he answered as many of their questions as he could, embellishing just a little, sorting the truth from the legend. In turn he queried them about the debris fields, the scattered wreckage left by the battle, and the dangers posed by the terrain and the ultra-cold temperatures. The six rangers had all come from planets like Helvetia where large portions were covered by glaciers, snowfields, and high mountain ranges. They were used to the huge expanses of white and the isolation from other settlements. Their mission on Jotunheim was to protect the still dangerous impact sites from scavengers searching for rare radioisotopes, prohibited military technology, and gruesome war souvenirs for the black market. They had surveyed and catalogued most of the area around the ketracel white refinery which was remarkably free of lingering blast radiation but contaminated with poisonous chemical dust frozen into the snow. The debris from the various space craft that crashed during the battle still awaited their attention. When that phase began a Graves Registry unit from Starfleet would join the rangers in repatriating any remains, allied or enemy, left on the field after the battle. Any personal effects and important artifacts would be gathered, too, and placed with their owner. Which is exactly what Bluntschli was there to do: recover some very personal effects.

Mission log, Stardate 2375-06-07. We flew point today, this final day before the battle. Chief has tweaked the performance of our fighters to an incredible level. The men were relaxed but focused. Our tour was uneventful and we returned to the ship making picture perfect landings. I took the time in the cockpit to decide on our tactics for tomorrow. We're going to borrow a technique from Von Richthofen: we will come at them with the sun at our backs and in their sensors. We will come out of warp just above the Ecliptic and let the Jotunheim's sun boost our fighter's acceleration with a slingshot maneuver. The Saratoga will warp in on the opposite side while we soften up the Jem'Hadar battleship or at least cause a diversion. FX, Triolus, and I discussed their search for a way to definitively take out the refinery and the force field is still the sticking point. FX had calculated the amount of energy needed and the length of time it needed to last to buckle even a small portion of the shield and we didn't have enough photon torpedoes to do it. I looked at the reconnaissance photos displayed on the chart table and it reminded me of the Tal der Eigeren back home and the reason why nobody lives in the Tal anymore. I told FX the story and FX had Computer do some simple calculations. He figured that he could do what I suggested with a stick of photon torpedoes and something called a "Blue 82" that would have to be transported into the planet's atmosphere at just the right altitude and location. The combination would create more than enough power to not only buckle the shields but implode them. If it didn't outright destroy the refinery, it would bury it in rubble for a month or so. Computer increased our probability of mission success to better than even. I told FX I was happy to contribute. Our last briefing was at 1600 hrs: no new intelligence had come through, our scouts had met no opposition yet, and our plan of battle was as polished as it was going to get. We began packing our survival kits and recording our personal messages; I added a pair of collapsible skis and ski poles just in case I had to ditch on the planet and wait for pickup. At 1800 we gathered in the cafeteria for supper, all of the Starfleet Marine officers except for the colonel who sat at the captain's table with the ship's department heads. We drank a little, sang a little, and talked about the future. I turned in early. Tomorrow would be a long and difficult day. End mission log, open personal log. Dearest Greta, dearest Johannes, dearest Vater und Mutter, if I do not survive tomorrow, know that I tried my best to come back to you and that I did all I possibly could. Let my comrades who do survive know that I loved them too as only brothers and sisters and beings in arms can. Auf weidersein. End personal log.

Bluntschli woke to the strains of the William Tell Overture wafting from his PADD. The wall opposite the bed glowed on and projected a view of the still dark landscape outside, waves of white powder beneath a black sky filled with stars. Beautiful and so clear, he said to himself. He flexed his long legs under his comforter, making his toes curl up at the end. So much more room than a ship's cabin, he thought. "Jolie, halt the music. What time is it local? How much time til sunrise?"

"0500 hours, colonel, of a 20-hour planetary day. Full sunrise in 2 hours." It should be a beautiful sunrise as the sun peeps over the mountains, he thought. He slowly pushed himself upright and once moving began his morning routine. Padding down the hall in his slippered feet, wrapped in a thick bathrobe, he made his way to the communal shower and toilets and found he had them all to himself. Shaved and showered, dressed in warm civilian clothes bought during his last vacation on Helvetia, he joined the day shift rangers in the dining / rec room, passing the night shift rangers on their way to bed. Looking at the bright and eager faces around the table, he wondered, Was I ever this young? Well, I am their first visitor of the summer season and I'm bringing them an excuse to leave the boredom of routine behind for awhile. "Guten tag to you all", he said. He replicated a breakfast of Belgian waffles, scrambled eggs, and cafe au lait and joined the rangers as they tucked into their meals. Fritz, tall and tow-headed, was a xeno-geologist from Trollheim; Yolanda, compact and muscular with Valkyrie braids, was a military historian from Rheinmaiden; Aisling with her short red bangs that hid her eyes and with her slender athletic build like a rock climber was a climatologist from the Scottish Highlands on Earth; and Snorri, white-haired and blue-skinned, was an Andorian power plant manager from Bifrost in the nearby Asgaard III system. All wore the orange safety suits necessary on a planet with such a harsh Ice Age climate. They made quick work of their warm meals and politely waited for Bluntschli to work through his. As he finished his last sip of coffee, Fritz spoke up. "Colonel", he asked, "what is on the schedule for today? With our superiors' permission, we are all at your disposal as are our vehicles and our laboratory. Director Schwarzkopf forwarded the briefing you gave her so that we could make preparations. So", Fritz smiled, "where do we start?"

"We start here, young man", Bluntschli replied. "Jolie, display Debris Field 7". The large video screen at one end of the room blinked to life and resolved into an image of snow and more snow. The PADD then superimposed lines of topography on the view, adding red and blue dots representing the spread of duranium and debris beneath and through the snow. "This is the most promising spot. We'll begin here and work our way backward to the refinery. We'll use your Argos shuttle to get to the site. To excavate we'll use a solar-powered snow blower and a Roomba excavator. I hope to find one of the F-26 Strike Eagles from the Saratoga's squadron. We may also find humanoid remains. There are some pilots who have not been accounted for so we must be prepared if we find them to repatriate them and return them to their families. You may have heard that this is a personal quest for me on behalf of my family; that is true. Beyond that, all the pilots in the squadron were like family to each other and so they are like family to me and mine". He signaled to Fritz that he was ready and the whole group got up at once, putting away their dishes and cups, and heading toward the welcome room where they put on their long, insulated coats and drew on their calf-high expedition boots for the trip. They made the short walk from the lodge to the hangar through a shallow drift of snow. Inside Bluntschli ran his hand down the sleek side of the Argos while the rangers loaded supplies and performed the pre-flight checklist. He noted with approval the name "Amundsen" stencilled on the rear and side hatches. He climbed up front with Fritz while the others piled into the mid-deck behind them. While Fritz spun up the engines, the colonel plugged his PADD into the socket for the co-pilot. "Jolie, transfer your mapping data to the navigation computer". Fritz watched the display as the data came across and when it was done, said "Roald, indentify Debris Field 7 and set a course to it passing over Debris Field 8 and Debris Field 9. Set sensors for increased sensitivity to duranium". He turned to the colonel and said, "Pre-flight complete. Is everyone strapped in? Yes? Roald, open the doors". The hangar doors slid apart and Bluntschli could see the whiteness of the snow glowing in the pre-dawn. The shuttle slipped silently out and up, slowly rising to what would be treetop level on a normal world. To the right he could see a million twinkling stars in the still black sky; to the left he could see Asgaard IV sending rosy fingers of dawn over the ragged tops of Jotunheim's continental divide. A beautiful sunrise, just like at home during the summer, Bluntschli thought. Fritz glanced over at his expression and smiled. He concentrated on his piloting and let the colonel enjoy the view that he himself had never grown tired of. Shortly, Roald began chiming softly indicating that they were nearing the first debris field and the first large reading of duranium.

At the surface there was nothing to indicate what lay below but the sensor readings displayed on the cockpit window told a different story. The shuttle hovered for a few moments over the site just long enough for the colonel to see the outline of the Jem'Hadar fighter, fuzzy, elongated, and fragmented but still distinctly Dominion with no traces of Federation duranium mixed in. He gestured to Fritz and Fritz continued to the next field in the string, performing the same maneuver as before. This site was even easier to eliminate since the sensor readings showed only a single wing from a Federation F-26 bent and buckled and pierced with holes made by particle-beam weapons. "There should be an ID number stencilled on the wing and engraved on some of the parts. If we have time later in the week, we'll come back here", said the colonel. He began to feel a sense of anticipation, an eagerness to get to the end of the hunt so that he could repay the debt from so long ago. Finally arriving at the seventh debris field, the sensor display showed him just what he was looking for: a Federation-built lifepod from an F-26 Strike Eagle. Would she still be there?, he wondered.

Pilot's log, Stardate 2375-06-08. Voice of Major Johannes Reinhard Bluntschli recognized and logged. Access granted. Flight data recorder and flight voice recorder engaged. Pre-flight checklist executing and mission data refreshing. Welcome aboard, Major.

Thank you, Juliet. All systems nominal: computer, life support, propulsion, and weapons. Begin pre-launch sequence, refresh course calculations, execute safety checklist.

Done, Major. Fuel pods are full, weapons complement full and fully charged, craft integrity 110%, shield generators fully charged, inertial dampers 100% functional. Lifepod is activated and fully prepped, oxygen tank levels full, air scrubbers fully charged. Mission data confirmed and displayed. Ship-to-ship communications are active. Alpha Flight reports ready for launch.

William Tell to Alpha Flight, sound off.

Black Knight, five by five, ready to launch.

Golf Ball, five by five, ready to launch.

Lead Pipe, five by five, ready to launch.

Saratoga Control, permission to hook up.

Permission granted, Alpha Flight.

Bay doors open, rails energized, acceleration in 30 seconds ... 20 seconds ... 10 seconds ... Go! William Tell. Go! Black Knight. Go! Golf Ball. Go! Lead Pipe. Alpha Flight away. 

Distance from base increasing, departure point approaching in 2 minutes ... 1 minute ... 20 seconds ... synchronizing with Saratoga Control, warp in 10 seconds ... 5 seconds ... 3, 2, 1 ... Warp 5, engage!

The sensors showed that the lifepod was still intact but at least 5 meters below the surface. Even though 15 winters had come and gone, the pod had actually floated upward some in the lesser density of the snow. Snorri and Yolanda took the first shift running the snow blower downslope of the site piling the loose snow to the side in a new drift. When the snow became harder packed Fritz and Aisling carefully positioned the Roomba excavator so that it would create a deep ring around the lifepod, allowing them to chip away or melt the ice around it. The colonel oversaw as much as he could, staying out in the cold for as long as he could. The young park rangers were careful not to overdo and stay within their safety limits but they were obviously happy to retreat to the shuttle while the Roomba did its work, briskly and efficiently spiralling slowly down to the base of the lifepod. The pod itself was 3 meters high and the snowbank around them was 8 meters deep. Once there was room around the pod to work, all of them began clearing the snow away from the cylinder left in the middle. Bluntschli climbed up onto the roof area and brushed the snow away so that he could see the pod's ID number. He scrubbed away the snow and ice particles and slowly uncovered the foot-high characters stencilled on the lifepod's skin. Well, this isn't the one I'm looking for, he thought. "Jolie, which lifepod is designated S for Sierra, A for Alpha, Zero, Three?"

"Lt. Garven PhilBallik, callsign "Golf Ball", a male Tellarite born on Tellar Prime. Approximately 1.67 meters tall, massing 128 kilograms. Long dark brown hair and beard".

The colonel slid off the roof and joined Snorri in digging out the back and base of the lifepod. "The black box should be just inside the skin of the lifepod somewhere around here. Ah, there it is". He could see a large circle engraved into the pod's surface and divided into six pie slices. The colonel pressed the slices in a particular sequence and the circle flipped up and out of the way allowing the ball-shaped flight data recorder to roll out into his hands. He stood up and held it so that the rangers could look at it, especially Fritz. Fritz smiled behind his faceplate and said, "My first disco ball. Your description was very accurate, Herr Bluntshli. What is that engraved on the outside below the ID number? Is it Tellarite writing?"

"Let's see", said the colonel. He cradled the large, heavy ball in the crook of one arm, pointed one of his PADD's eyestalks at the ball with his opposite hand, and said "Jolie, translate, please." 

"The inscription above is S-A-0-3. Below is the flight computer's name, Shallash, in Tellarite script. Shallash is the name of a legendary liberator of the Tellarite peoples. Stand by ... I am receiving a transmission from the flight data recorder. It is identifying itself as Shallash and requesting that we identify ourselves. I am sending the appropriate response codes so that it will not activate it's self-destruct sequence ... it is accepting them. Shallash is aware that his pilot, the lieutenant is deceased. He is transferring his data to me in encrypted form in reverse chronological order. He shut himself down beginning approximately one week after the lifepod landed and his data goes back in time to the Saratoga's assignment to the Sona'a campaign. Stand by ... he has recorded the trajectories of the transponders for Alpha Flight as he was falling through the stratosphere. I have transferred the data to the Amundsen's navigational controls."

"Thank you, Jolie. First though we need to finish our work with Lt. Garven". Yolanda and Aisling had been working to clear away the snow blocking the front hatch of the lifepod. Jolie remotely activated the hatch release and the canopy slowly lifted upward exposing the cockpit interior. The short chunky alien's remains were frozen though somewhat dessicated by the cold like an Andean mummy. His body was still encased in his hard space suit and his safety straps. There were no visible signs of damage or fire inside the pod or breaches in the spacesuit. The colonel made a cursory inspection to see if he could determine a cause of death. The unnatural angle of the Tellarite's head and almost non-existent neck indicated that his inertial dampeners had failed and he had died before he ejected, possibly when his craft struck the atmosphere. His fighter had slammed straight down into the surface while the pod had made a long arcing descent, shedding speed as it approached the surface, then burrowing under the snow. The colonel made a cursory search for loose items on the floor of the pod and finding it neat and clean, lowered the canopy and pressed it down until it latched closed. Quickly calculating in his head how much exposure time they had left that day, he gestured to the rangers to gather round him for a quick meeting. "We will leave the lieutenant here for now and take Shallash with us. He will keep and later we can build a ramp to draw the lifepod out of the hole and into the back of the shuttle with a tractor beam. Jolie and I will go over the data from Shallash tonight and see if we can pinpoint our next dig site with a bit more exactitude". Well, he thought, we have six more likely spots to go. The first day's work finished, the group piled into the shuttle and returned to the station.

That night after dinner and a few hours of work, the colonel called his helpers into the room and turned on the projector wall so that they could see what he had discovered. At the base of the wall was a map of the Asgaard IV system viewed from above the ecliptic with Asgaard IV's yellow sun shining to the left and Jotunheim a small grey ball on the right. Above it all a series of video panes opened up, blank at first. Between the two layers a countdown clock began turning, running at a fast clip. At the bottom left, a silver silhouette of the Saratoga appeared just to the left of the sun and the panels on the right came to life with video from the upper surface of the Saratoga's saucer while it was still in warp with Asgaard IV dead ahead. Another feed looked down from the underside of the saucer at the mouth of the flight deck. A third feed opened inside the flight deck showing a panorama of F-26 Strike Eagle fighter craft arranged in four lines of four sitting on magnetic rails, ready for launch. The feed was tied to the clock and the faster the clock changed, the faster objects in the video moved. Outside the ship the stars streamed by the Saratoga as it warped through space; inside the ship, the pilots appeared at the back of the flight deck and seemed to quickmarch across to their F-26s and then around them touching their craft here and there. Next the canopies popped open and the pilots seemed to jump up and into their cockpits. A large crew of jumpsuited workers swarmed the craft and then quickly disappeared, the canopies of the craft snapping closed as they left.

The clock slowed as the Saratoga dropped out of warp and coasted toward its not yet visible target. The doors of the flight deck swiftly rolled back from the center and the F-26s were catapulted out in front of the Saratoga. They formed up into separate lines just to the right hand of the ship, standing still for what seemed like seconds then winking into warp, four craft at a time. When the last line vanished from the center panel, the Saratoga jumped to warp, too. 

At the bottom of the screen the silhouette of the Saratoga and sixteen long, thin triangles of blue moved toward Asgaard IV and Asgaard IV grew larger and larger on the screen and in the video feeds. The fighters dropped out of warp first just beyond the edge of the sun's heliosphere and quickly swung past and away from the star, zeroing in on the still tiny globe of Jotunheim. As Jotunheim quickly expanded at the center of their gun cameras, red targetting rings appeared showing the location of the Jem'Hadar battleship and its defenders. A green targetting ring, very small, was superimposed on the edge of the horizon on Jotunheim closest to the refinery. The red rings began flashing urgently. Here the colonel broke the rapt silence in the room with his first observation: "The fighters are moving at 125% of impulse thanks to the maneuver around the sun. The Jem'Hadar have just picked up their presence on their scanners. The fighters will be within firing range in a few seconds". The clock had slowed to actual time and the audience in the room could feel the seconds tick away as the pilots themselves had. The targetting rings centered on the battleship flashed briefly and the video followed two photon torpedoes streaking from each of the fighters toward the battleship. At the bottom of the screen the battleship appeared as a red silhouette surrounded by seven thin red triangles representing Jem'Hadar fighters. The torpedoes were represented by a dashed line which marked their trajectory until they struck the shield of the battleship which flashed red as each one struck and the percentage of the shield strength appeared beneath the silhouette. After the first salvo of torpedoes, the shields had dropped to 85%. On the video feed, two more torpedoes were launched from each fighter and particle beams began to lance out toward the fighters from the battleship and phaser fire began to pulse out from the fighters toward the Jem'Hadar defenders. One defender was caught by phaser fire from two F-26s and its shields were breached and its cockpit sliced in half longways. Phaser fire began to stab out from the defenders' side and the shields of the fighters began to flare, trying to absorb the damage. "Callsign Golf Ball" appeared beneath one of the video panels and then suddenly that gun camera was filled with bright light as the shield was overwhelmed and failed then began shaking and spinning crazily. The third and fourth salvo of photon torpedoes launched by other fighters in the squadron flashed by the camera's view as well as two Jem'Hadar fighters pinwheeling away in a haze of cockpit atmosphere. Then the camera's spinning began to slow until it was pointed facing Jotunheim and Golf Ball's F-26 began steadily accelerating toward the planet drawn into its gravity well. The video shuddered violently as the fighter hit the top of the atmosphere and seconds later the lifepod ejected, the video splitting into a forward view and a rearward view, one showing the snowy surface approaching and the other showing the rest of the Strike Eagle falling away in a crazy, flat spin. The video showed the anti-gravity thrusters in the pod gradually cutting the pod's speed and shaping its descent. The forward camera showed the pod approaching and then racing just a few feet above the sparkling white surface, finally touching down hard and burrowing part way into a drift, its heat turning the snow around it to steam. The rear camera followed a Jem'Hadar craft in flames smashing into the surface and then another lifepod descending just to the south of Golf Ball's. The final view was a huge cloud of snow and lightning rising from the surface and sweeping down on the lifepod burying it and its cameras, front and back. The video panel turned a grainy, crystalline white. The clock in the center quit turning.

Pilot's log (continued): Second salvo is away. The mothership's forcefield is showing signs of buckling. Engaging defenders at long range, taking evasive action against phaser fire from the mothership. First salvo of torpedos from Bravo flight is passing over and between us. Pairing off with Lead Pipe and Golf Ball is pairing off with Black Knight to double our firepower on each of the defenders. One enemy craft drifting, cabin bleeding atmosphere, one enemy falling into the gravity well, one enemy with rear segment sheared off spinning end over end. Golf Ball is hit, holed through just behind the cockpit; he's lost propulsion and his trajectory is taking him into the atmosphere. Juliet, scan for enemy craft and enumerate.

Flight Computer: 7 hostiles visible on original scan, 3 hostiles confirmed killed, usual complement is 12 to 15 per battleship. Long range scans are now detecting 4 Jem'Hadar fighters coming up from behind the planet. Intercepting communications between them and the mothership. Translating ... fighters are being ordered into low orbit to defend the refinery and intercept any torpedos. Warning! Lead Pipe is disabled and has ejected. Warning! Black Knight is destroyed, pilot lost. Hostile 4 is damaged, no ejection. Hostile 5 is destroyed. Bravo Flight has fully engaged the remaining 2 hostiles in high orbit but are coming under heavy phaser fire from the mothership.

Pilot: Juliet, status of Saratoga? 

Flight Computer: The Saratoga is within phaser ranger of the mothership and is initiating attack sequence Riker Delta Zero.

Pilot: Status of Bravo Flight?

Flight Computer: Bravo Flight is intact, targeting the mothership with phaser fire so that it can't extend its shields around the 2 hostiles remaining in high orbit. Warning! Blackjack is disabled, pilot ejected. 

Pilot: Charlie Flight and Delta Flight, redirect to low orbit. "Plow the field", repeat, "Plow the field". Bravo Flight, cover Charlie and Delta flight. Sierra Alpha Zero One redirecting in support of Bravo.

Flight Computer: Message acknowledged by flight leaders. 

Pilot: Entering low orbit above Charlie Flight and Delta Flight. Targeting Hostile 8.

"Jolie, show me the trajectory of Sierra Alpha Zero One." The PADD projected a 3-D hologram of the surface of Jotunheim with two narrow blue triangles suspended above it. The numeral 3 glowed white above one and the numeral 1 above the other. At first they were moving in concert, traveling in the same direction, maintaining the same distance. Then they began to move from side to side but not together until one began to fall toward the planet, curving down to the surface. Shortly afterward, the second craft began a controlled descent into the atmosphere interrupted by movements that could only be evasive action caused by a foe firing from behind. The triangle shuddered for a second, then accelerated for more than a minute, and finally began to make a slow curving descent toward the surface just like the lifepod but at a slower speed. That must be it, he thought. Which debris field? Number 5. Our target for tomorrow. "Jolie, that's enough for me for tonight. While I'm asleep, compare Shallash's data against all the existing Starfleet records and rebuild the search map centering around Debris Field 5."

"Will do, colonel", the PADD replied. "Good night."

"Gute nacht, Jolie."

The next morning the crew hurried through breakfast and eagerly made its way directly to Debris Field 5. Closeup scans showed a battle-damaged F-26 Eagle with its lifepod intact and still locked into the airframe. The snow blower and the excavator quickly uncovered the top of the Eagle and Bluntschli brushed the crusted snow away from the area just behind the canopy revealing "SA01" stencilled on the fuselage. Once enough of the snow was removed from the top, Snorri and Fritz helped him unlatch the canopy and swing it up revealing the cockpit. He gingerly sat down in the empty pilot's seat and a wave of astonishment swept over him. How had his father survived? he asked himself. The rear of the Eagle had hundreds of holes drilled through the wings and struts. The canopy itself had a long line of scorching where a phaser from the mothership had nearly sliced it open. He quickly examined the cockpit walls, looking for the one memento his father had unwilingly left behind him. Ah, there it is, he said to himself. Grossvater und Grossmutter, he in his best boiled wool jacket and she in her finest embroidered Weihnachten dress, standing in front of their chalet's fireplace. He peeled the large ceramic tile off the wall and pushed it into his coat's roomy chest pocket. Now to fulfill his father's fervent wish and bring Major Bluntschli's last comrade-in-arms all the way home. His PADD was nestled inside his warm coat and he carefully drew out a data-transfer cord from his kangaroo pocket and plugged it into a socket on the instrument panel. Lights began to come on on the panel and assorted muted chirps and cheeps issued from it.

"Jolie, activate the black box."

The instrument panel chirped some more and the heads-up display abruptly materialized showing the status of all the main systems. The icon for the craft's auto-pilot glowed bright green along with the oxygen supply against the red of the weapons and shield strength and the yellow of the propulsion system. The indicator for the onboard computer pulsed a dull red. Scheisse! he thought.

"Colonel, the black box is missing", the PADD reported. "It is no longer aboard the ship. I am transmitting activation signals to the immediate area but receiving no pings in response." 

Double scheisse! he thought. Where in himmel could it be? "Jolie, put the lifepod into maintenance mode and disengage the locking clamps. We'll have to lift it off the airframe and visually inspect the buoy release hatch". Bluntschli reached into a crease at the top of the pilot's seat cushion and pressed a hidden release that freed the cushion from its anchors. He reached into the shallow space revealed and drew out a square canvas bag by its strap. His father's "bugout bag" was just big enough to contain a pair of very short strap-on skis, two fully collapsible ski poles, a box of chocolate bars, a roll of Maria Teresa gold coins, a small leatherbound paper journal with pen, and an antique Helvetian Army stitchgun with a 250-round clip nestled next to a strap of 5 Starfleet-issue incendiary grenades. He unplugged Jolie after she had finished her tasks and carefully took the bag back to the Amundsen and secured it in one of the tool lockers. "Snorri, Yolanda, get the Amundsen ready and warm up the tractor beam". Soon the Amundsen was hovering over the lifepod and gently drawing it up and away from the airframe to set it down well away from the side of the hole. Bluntschli and Fritz cleared crusted snow from around the hatch at the rear base of the pod and Bluntschli began pushing the pie slices of the hatch in the prescribed order. The hatch lifted up but a quick examination showed that the area behind it was empty. The socket where the globe of the black box nestled was visibly empty but also undamaged like its outer hatch. Bluntschli reached in and came away with a square data cartridge the size of his hand. He sighed. The cartridge would be the next best thing to the black box, the last 10 minutes of the ship's flight recorder before the black box was ejected. So close but he was getting closer. He put the cartridge inside his jacket along with the tile and gathered the crew around him. "We're almost there. Tomorrow should be the big day. Thank you so much. Let's break for the day and get warm again." They all smiled at him and they briskly piled into the shuttle for the trip back to the ranger station. "We all love a quest, herr Colonel" said Yolanda with a smile. "Anything to relieve the boredom".

Back at the station he disposed of the stitch gun and the grenades in the recycler's demoleculizer; he couldn't properly secure them at the ranger base or properly explain his father's possession of them. He was curious about the contents of the journal but knowing his dad he decided to wait for permission to look. That night after dinner, the colonel dug through the hodge-podge of electronic parts in the station's workshop and finally found a reader which would work with the data cartridge and his PADD. He left the PADD to transfer and decrypt the cartridge's contents while he lay on the bed looking at the ceiling. He had found his father's fighter craft but he hadn't answered the question his father had been asking himself all these years. How did I survive when Golf Ball and Black Knight didn't? How did I escape the Jem'Hadar on my tail and land without crashing? I was unconscious when the Saratoga beamed me back aboard after the battle. Why did I survive? And why was the black box ejected and how? He yawned and stretched out and an hour later he woke up to the chiming of his PADD anouncing the completion of the decryption. 

"Jolie, activate the wall screen. Project the data from the cartridge". Bluntschli sat up at the head of the bed and watched as the video began to load. The timer appeared at the top of the screen running backward from 10 minutes toward zero. The video split into 3 screens: the gun camera looked forward, the rear-facing camera looked backward between the tailfins, and the cockpit camera pointed at the pilot from the instrument panel. Immediately, the colonel could see that his father was in trouble. The gun camera showed a cone of fire where the forward shields were pushing the atmosphere away from the nose of the Eagle and the rear camera showed strands of orange, red, white, and blue fire meeting at a point behind the craft as it streamed around the aft shields. He could also see the rear shields flare as they were touched by phaser fire from the Jem'Hadar fighter following his father down to the planet. When he turned his attention to the cockpit camera he was even more shocked: it was obvious his father was unconscious, probably from the concussion of the phaser fire or the steep acceleration his craft was undergoing. As he watched the heads-up display showed a countdown from 10 to zero winding down and the auto-pilot glowing bright green and engaged. The ship's computer announced in a sweet female voice with a Neu Deutsche accent "Mark. Log buoy ejecting".

The video stopped and the clock went to 0:00:00. Bluntschli sat up straight. Juliet! Juliet had saved his father. She had engaged the auto-pilot. Then she had ejected herself, in the form of the black box, and had saved his father. That explained the red Jem'Hadar silhouette with the blue heart at its core. The black box / log buoy had been ejected from the rear, been caught up in the slipstream, and the Jem'Hadar fighter had flown right into a thick duranium sphere at re-entry speeds. Even if the black box struck the forward shields of the Jem'Hadar craft a glancing blow it could have thrown it off enough to allow his father to escape. No wonder he was so adamant about me finding her. She was less his ship's computer and more his co-pilot. She had sacrificed herself to save him as if she were a human comrade. He blinked at the thought. Well, now I know where to look.

The next morning after breakfast Bluntschli showed his helpers the video and they too realized that the colonel had located his prize. They weren't disappointed that they had been looking in the wrong place and they marveled at Juliet's "loyalty" to the major and the major's loyalty to her as one of the strange things that happen during war. The colonel zeroed in their search on the Jem'Hadar fighter with the Federation-machined duranium at its heart. It had smashed into the surface nose-first and had plowed three times deeper beneath the surface and actually frozen into an ice sheet. The rim of the crater around it was easily discernible beneath the drifts with a tricorder. The backup snowblower and excavator would be brought out so that they could reach the debris twice as fast. Even though the Dominion fighter was mostly duranium, Bluntschli hoped that the stronger Federation casting would have survived the collision and the crash.

"X marks the spot." The colonel took the first shift on one of the two snowblowers and Fritz operated the backup so they were on opposite points on the crater rim. Clearing the snow brought up by the excavators, they created a small oval-shaped valley between them, working down to the surface of the ice sheet. The colonel and Fritz finished their shift and were replaced by Yolanda and Aisling who softened up the ice sheet with portable heaters and vacuums to draw off the resulting meltwater. The excavators continued to move the loosened ice particles up and out of the crater with Snorri working the snowblowers. The crew broke for lunch inside the Amundsen, warming themselves back up. The colonel and Fritz took over the heat projectors with Aisling monitoring the Amundsen's scanners and Snorri taking radar soundings. 

After two hours of hard, cold work, Aisling broke the silence. "Colonel, I can see the fighter's tail. It's about a quarter of a meter below the center. I'm shutting down the excavators". The Roombas retreated from the center on either side and stopped. The colonel walked down the inclined side to the center and inspected the surface with the tip of the radar probe. "Snorri, can you detect the black box yet?"

"Yes, colonel, it's only a meter or two below your feet."

"Jolie, try and ping the box."

"No response, Colonel."

"Fritz, bring the pick and shovel and let's liberate our friend from her icy sleep". Fritz scrambled down from the shuttlecraft with a tool in each hand and he and the colonel began hacking at the ice with a will, clearing the last two meters quickly and efficiently. Fritz saw the faceted surface of the black box first and gently chipped the ice from around its crown with the shovel's edge. Bluntschli reached down and drew the black box to his chest and ran his gloved hand over it, turning it over in his hands. "SA-01" was embossed onto the metal of one face and "Juliet" was stencilled on the opposite side. "Liebchen", he said to the sphere, "Let's get you someplace warm!"

The laughter of his happy little crew filled his earpiece followed by a smatter of applause. They gathered up the equipment and followed the colonel into the warmth of the shuttle. "Snorri, where is the charging pad?" he asked.

"Right here by the science officer's station, sir". Bluntschli placed the sphere on the pad by Snorri's elbow so that it could recharge and then began to examine it for damage. Many of its facets were dimpled or scored but the outer shell hadn't been breached. Seemingly it has passed through the Jem'Hadar ship and maybe the Jem'Hadar pilot and landed right on top of it.

"Jolie, can you detect whether she's recharging or not, whether her power levels are rising? Snorri, are the scanners picking up anything?"

Jolie replied in the negative but Snorri punched commands into the science station interface and watched the result on the display in front of him. A representation of the black box's sphere appeared on the screen with a slight reddening spreading along its bottom surface. "There's some warming beginning and there's a small trickle of electricity being drawn from the pad. I recommend we head back to the lodge and use the industrial strength charging pad in the laboratory".

"Good idea, young man. Everything secure? Wunderbar. Fritz, let's take Juliet back to the lodge and let her get her strength back". Fritz nodded from the pilot's seat and began the takeoff checklist. Soon they were gliding over the snowfields and back to their base, their prize glinting on the charging pad. Once they got back to the lodge, they tucked Amundsen away in its hangar, stowed their gear and equipment, and then crowded into the laboratory to begin their vigil around the shiny sphere. Bluntschli arranged his PADD so that one of its flexible scanner stalks was focused on the black box and Snorri set a tricorder facing it from the other side. Jolie extended her holospike and displayed a wide spectrum analysis of the radiation around the sphere. While they waited for the sphere to show some flicker of life, Bluntschli fetched mugs of Helvetia's best hot chocolate and passed around a small bottle of Helvetian chocolate liquer in a small measure of celebration. As the day moved toward night, the two night-shift rangers, coal-skinned Ituri from Ruwenzori and Aisling's fiance, tall shaggy-headed Hamish from Pitlochry, made an appearance to see what their colleagues had unearthed. Eventually, they moved to the dining room and dug into a steaming meal of replicated trout almondine and a small salad. They cleaned up and returned to the laboratory where the tricorder had gone into sleep mode but the PADD was still displaying its twice-a-minute scans of the sphere.

"Jolie, report".

"Colonel, the black box is very slowly warming up on its surface and even more slowly absorbing a trickle of electricity from the charging pad. I have been pinging it at five-minute intervals with no response. The next ping begins on my mark ... 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... now". The PADD's display flickered for an instant and the signal strength indicator flicked to the right from zero. "I'm receiving a request for the countersign. Transmitting now. Countersign recognized and acknowledged. Power levels are still very, very low. The black box is identifying itself as Sierra Alpha Zero One, also known as "Juliet". Juliet is requesting permission to continue charging until its power levels allow it to transmit its stored data."

"Jolie, let it know that permission is granted, authority of Colonel Johannes Bluntschli, Starfleet Intelligence, code Hotel Hotel Chalet Crossbow 13 Oh 7. Does Juliet need a warmer ambient temperature?"

Jolie seemed to pause. "Yes, Colonel. She requests an increase in the room temperature of at least 5 degrees. It will speed up her recharging. At her current rate her power levels should be returned to 10% above minimum by sunrise". Snorri made the needed adjustments to the room's thermostat and dialed the charge levels of the pad upward, too. Now the only thing they could do was wait. The merry band turned in for the night and left the sphere to regain its strength under Jolie's watch.

The next morning the colonel awoke to the chiming of his combadge on the nightstand by his bed. "Bluntschli, acknowledging", he said rubbing his eyes. 

"Jolie reporting, sir. Juliet is at minimum plus 15% and will be at 25% within the next hour and a half. Should she begin transferring her data now she will be able to transfer at least 50% of her contents before stopping to recharge. If she waits to recharge to 25% she will be able to transfer 100% of her data while simultaneosly recharging". Bluntschli considered the matter for a moment then responded:

"Jolie, allow her to recharge to 25% percent and wake me when Juliet is ready to make the transfer."

"Acknowledged, Colonel." Bluntschli drew the covers back over his head and went back to sleep, feeling his age from the previous day's hard labor. Two hours later his combadge chimed again and the PADD announced that the sphere was ready to transfer its data. Bluntschl rolled out of bed, washed and dressed, and joined the rangers in the dining room for breakfast. After breakfast the whole group trooped into the laboratory and patiently watched Jolie's display of the signal strength indicator and the percentage complete bar. Forty minutes later the percentage bar stood at 100% and the transfer rate dropped to zero as the charging rate rose back to 25%.

"Jolie, roll the video forward to the last 30 minutes before ejection and display on the wall screen". The PADD acknowledged the order and projected the video onto the wall. Three windows opened up side by side showing the rear view of the F-26, the interior of the cockpit, and the forward view from the gun camera and a countdown clock popped up rolling toward zero from a 30-minute count. The crew watched with rapt attention sipping from steaming mugs of their favorite beverage. Bluntschli was nervous, nervous for the first time in many years. In Intelligence he had scoured hours and hours of video looking for his prey to give itself away with a false movement or commit to a direction they couldn't correct. He was about to see his father engaged in a life-and-death struggle that would take the Jem'Hadar and the Sona'a out of the war 3 months earlier than the best strategists in Starfleet had predicted. He would see his father on the edge of death and how he reacted under that pressure. He sighed. He survived, he came back to us and he never left. I drew more pictures for him which eventually led me back to here. Es ist was es ist. "Jolie, play".

The clock began to spin and the images began to move, the insect-like Jem'Hadar fighters and the jagged silhouette of their mothership on the right, the other Starfleet fighters on the left with the deep gray disc of the Saratoga's saucer well behind them and rushing toward them. In the center was the view his father had, forward out the viewscreen, the cylindrical 3-D display just above the instrument panel, and the rearview displays up and to either side of the forward windscreen. A new feed opened up just underneath the one showing the cockpit and all of a sudden Bluntschli could see what his father was seeing on the visor of his hardsuit helmet. He could hear bits and pieces of the chatter over the transmission band for Alpha Flight and the coordinating chatter between the Saratoga and all four flights. He watched again as Golf Ball, Lead Pipe, and Black Knight's fighters were destroyed or dropped from view. Then Blackjack punched out. He and Lead Pipe were still alive but their lifepods were floating helplessly. Golf Ball's lifepod was still on its way to the ground. The heavy phasers and launch tubes of the Saratoga were brought to bear on the mothership. Under cover of the Saratoga's fire, his father dipped toward the planet to meet the closest Jem'Hadar, Hostile 8, as it moved to interdict Bravo and Charlie flights. His targeting rings zeroed in on the enemy craft and the enemy pilot acted as if he was blindly focused on the Federation ships below him. As the major came within range the rings turned green, the major fired, and the enemy slipped to one side as the phaser burst glanced off his shields, then corkscrewed down closer to his targets. The major dove in after him, scoring more glancing blows and struggling to close the distance. In less than a minute the Jem'Hadar would be so close to his comrades that a missed shot by him might hit them. They were close to meeting the three Jem'Hadar who had come from behind the planet. Flammen turned up to meet the Hostile and fired just as the major fired again. The Jem'Hadar fighter's shields buckled and it was sliced in two from front to back. Flammen dodged the debris on the left as he continued upward and the major dodged the debris on the right as he swung down and rushed to join up with Flammen's Delta Flight. The two pilots were looking up at each other through their canopies as they streaked by on either side of their kill. 

"William Tell. Anti-aircraft batteries powering up on the surface. You'll be within range in two minutes, 10 seconds, mark. FX advises you to suppress the phaser batteries until after the signal is given. Do you copy?"

"I copy, Control", his father replied. "Bravo and Charlie meet the fighters; Flammen stay with Charlie. Delta, target the battery closest to you. Increase power to forward shields, increase phaser strength 15%". "Juliet, ETA over the refinery?"

"Six minutes, 30 seconds".

Bluntschli's stomach was tied in a knot. The view of the cockpit and from the helmet display was claustrophobic. His father was executing strings of evasive maneuvers that the F-26 was never meant to perform, firing his weapons almost the entire time. By the time the Saratoga was within range of the refinery Delta Flight had destroyed most of the anti-aircraft guns on their approach angle. As their phaser banks were depleted the fighters pealed off to return to the Saratoga, the major bringing up the rear. Next the Saratoga opened up with a barrage of quantum torpedoes which visibly shrank the dome of the shields above the refinery. Suddenly in the air above the refinery, on the now unprotected side facing back toward the mountains, a huge metal object shimmered into existence and began falling toward the surface. This was the signal the major was waiting for. This was FX's BLU-82: a ruined shuttlecraft stuffed with high explosives and falling toward the refinery but not directly onto it. The enormous bomb landed three quarters of the way up the slope above the refinery and the surface of the rock and snow bulged outward from the detonation point. Then the slope itself began to slip, to move, a huge mass of snow, dust, slate, and boulders, picking up speed and size, shoving a cloud of roiling snow and dirt in front of it. This avalanche covered the distance between its origin and the base of the refinery's shield in mere minutes, piling up against the shield, compressing it, and then as the full weight of its mass arrived, buckling the shield, rolling over the refinery like a white tsunami. Catalyst towers and yrdium crackers were uprooted and smashed against each other, bobbing like splinters of metal in a roiling river of white. Huge arcs of electricity began springing outward from the chaos enveloping the refinery and then a huge explosion sent a gray and white mushroom cloud high into the atmosphere, raining shrapnel over the winterscape.

Pilot's log (continued): Control, target is destroyed, repeat, target is destroyed. Visual confirmation. All fighters, return to base, all fighters return to base.

Saratoga Control: Acknowledged, William Tell. Approach from the stern. Hostile mothership is still engaged despite heavy damage. Hostile craft have retreated to the mothership's defensive sphere.

Pilot: Juliet, status of all fighters.

Flight Computer: Alpha Flight accounted for, 2 dead, 1 injured and retrieved. Bravo Flight accounted for, 2 injured but flyable, 2 damaged but flyable. Charlie Flight accounted for, 2 injured and retrieved, 2 damaged but flyable. Delta Flight accounted for, 4 damaged but flyable. This craft approaching critical in power reserves and life support. Shields at 60%, phaser banks at 10%, propulsion at 40%. Warning! Hostile 11 approaching Charlie and Delta Flights, weapons powering up.

Pilot: Move to intercept! Target nacelles and fire in stutter mode when in range. Shift power to port shields. 

Flight Computer: Intercept in 40 seconds, hostile is already firing on Charlie Flight. Firing. Hostile shields reduced to 60%. Charlie Flight returning fire but power levels are low. Hostile is turning toward this craft, moving out of range of Charlie Flight. Incoming fire, shields reduced to 50%.

Pilot: Continue fire in burst mode. Shift power to aft shields and head for the atmosphere.

Flight Computer: Warning! Shield strength may not be sufficient for surface landing.

Pilot: Acknowledged. Switching to suit environment. Divert life support to shields. Is the hostile following us?

Flight Computer: Affirmative. Hostile is turning away from other craft. Velocity increasing and laying in pursuit course. Warning! Incoming phaser fire from mothership.

Pilot: Evasive action, Tell Zero Three.

Flight Computer: Executing. Out of range of mothership in 2 minutes. Upper reach of atmosphere in 3 minutes. Hostile still in pursuit, continuing evasive action. Forward phaser banks depleted. Rear phaser banks at 20%. Structural integrity at 80%. Shield strength at 80%. Mothership out of range, hostile closing. Life support at 0%. Suit telemetry shows strong vital signs but suit oxygen being depleted more quickly than projected. Scrubbers fully charged and working at peak efficiency. Setting course for optimal entry angle. Warning! Turbulence in 3 .. 2 .. 1.

Pilot: Scheisse! Gott damn! [Silence] Hostile's status?

Flight Computer: Committed. Entering turbulence now. Distance increasing. Starboard phasers depleted. Port phasers firing at reduced power. Adjusting trajectory to take advantage. Leading edge temperatures increasing at an accelerated rate. Shields are degrading but holding. Hostile is attempting to lock on targeting scanner. 

Pilot: Follow suit. Fire rear phasers in burst mode on contact. Stress their forward shields. 

Saratoga Control: William Tell, you're out of our reach. Do you intend to land? Repeat, do you intend to land?

Pilot: Affirmative, Control. Juliet, home in on transponder for lifepod Sierra Alpha Zero Three.

Flight Computer: Transponder located. Continuing evasive action. Control signal lost to atmospheric interference. Firing on hostile. Hostile's target scanner deflected. Aft shields holding.

Pilot: Juliet, execute "Second Arrow" protocol.

Flight Computer: Protocol engaged. Optimal execution time is 21 seconds, beginning at ... mark. "It has been an honor to serve with you, Major".

Pilot: Juliet, "the honor was all mine".

Unintelligible noise, multiple alarms sounding in the cockpit, multiple systems flashing red in the heads-up display. Visually, the pilot jerks forward, their head and arms thrown violently against their safety straps. The cockpit canopy goes dark, overloaded by light generated from a glancing phaser blast. The auto-pilot engages, turning green, and the countdown on the heads-up display reaches zero. All 3 feeds go dark. 

The colonel let out a breath of relief and the tension left him. Even though it was secondhand, he still could feel the peril that his father and Juliet had faced. He reached out and ran his hand over Juliet's pitted and marked facets as if he were tousling the hair of a favored child or ruffling the fur of a loyal pet. Vater will be so pleased, he thought, that he can thank you in person. 

"Jolie, play the video from the Saratoga, starting from the final 20 minute mark". The screen lit up again, the top showing space above the Saratoga's saucer, the middle one showing the interior of the flight deck, and the bottom showing the view of the battle from underneath the saucer including the surface of the planet. The phaser banks of the Saratoga lanced out at the Jem'Hadar battleship, crashing against its shields and probing for vulnerabilities. Photon torpedoes flashed out from the Saratoga and detonated at different points on the leading edge of the Jem'Hadar shield in a coordinated pattern with the phaser strikes, seeking to overload the enemy's defenses. The mothership was firing back, sending out streams of radiant energy, missiles, and counter-missiles. The fighters from both ships could be seen in low orbit firing at each other and dodging phaser fire from the two larger ships. Suddenly a huge spot of white spread out from a point on the surface with lightning bolts swirling inside it and around it. Quickly following the explosion, the camera on the flight deck showed the Saratoga's battered fighters floating into its mouth, hooking up, and being quickly drawn inside. Tractor beams began to reach out and draw in the damaged fighters and to guide in the wounded pilots. The last few enemy fighters impaled themselves on the Saratoga's phasers. The frequency and strength of the phaser fire from the enemy began to weaken until finally its shields gave way on one side and its left nacelle was sheared away in an explosion that rocked the enemy ship. The mothership quit firing and at the very end tried to back away from the Saratoga. The Saratoga having finished its mission and the last pilot, his father, transported from the planet's surface, closed it's flight deck's blast doors and warped away from the scene. Once again the countdown went to zero and the panels faded to black. Bluntschli knew what happened next from the after-action reports at Memory Prime: the mothership had floated away from high orbit around Jotunheim into open space with it's warp engines shut down to maintain its life support. Days later their allies, the Sona'a, arrived to investigate the situation, found the Jem'Hadar had lost the battle, and promptly dispatched the wounded mothership with a flurry of phaser blasts. Bluntschli had read the Sona'a captain's report to his High Command blaming the mothership's destruction on the Saratoga as well as the decrypted order from the High Command to destroy the mothership when they arrived. Bluntschli sighed. He belonged to a long line of mercenaries who had jealously guarded their freedom and their territory by making war their business, not their art and not their science. Creating a creature like the Jem'Hadar to live only to fight and kill but more often to die, saddened him immensely. It made the Saratoga's victory bittersweet somehow. The Saratoga had lost two pilots, Golf Ball the Tellarite and Black Knight, a lanky Yorkshireman from Earth. The Jem'Hadar had lost all their pilots, then their entire crew. They were slaves to ketracel white, slaves to the Founders, slaves who didn't realize that they were slaves. May Gott have mercy on their souls.

"My friends, enough of death and destruction for today. I have five days left before the Aarhus returns so until then Jolie, Juliet, and I are at your service. We'll recover Lt. PhilBallick first, then work our way back to the refinery from Debris Field 4 to Debris Field 1. I'll get Jolie working on an updated topographical map for us and after lunch we'll recover the lieutenant and scan the other 4 locations on our way back. Is that acceptable to you all?" There was an answering chorus of nods from his helpers. "Good. Go eat and I'll catch up with you shortly". While the others were taking their turn at the replicators, he went back to his guest room and took a wrapped, book-size package from his duffle pack and brought it back to the workroom. He unwrapped it and placed the contents next to Juliet on the work table: a PADD-5 with a custom protective case colored to look like the light grey duranium skin of the black box and with "SA-01" stencilled across it in orange. Bluntschli unfolded the new PADD and pressed his palm against it to unlock it. It shimmered to life and the holospike extended itself up from its surface. "Juliet?"

"Yes, Colonel?"

"I have a new housing for you. Begin transfer to PADD-5 designated "Juliet Sierra Alpha Zero One", authorization Colonel Johannes Wilhelm Bluntschli. Full backup, all data."

"Acknowledged, Colonel. Executing now." The holospike projected a progress bar in the air above it and after watching it for a few moments, the colonel retreated to the dining room and joined the lively discussion around the table between bites of a replicated BLT. The rangers were comparing the highest peaks on their respective homeworlds: Ben Nevis for Aisling and Hamish, Marguerite's Peak for Ituri, Mont Rouge for Fritz, the Valkyrie's Sword for Yolanda, Mount Heimdall for Snorri, and Mont Gris for Bluntschli. Sitting, talking with them, laughing with them made him feel younger or ... he admitted to himself ... they make it easy to remember when I was this young, he thought. The meal ended and the conversation tapered off. They all trooped into the workroom and gathered around Jolie as the colonel went over the retrieval of the lieutenant's remains and the recovery of the lifepod. He sketched out the work to be done over the next few days before the Aarhus arrived and thanked them again for their help. He folded Jolie into her protective case and tucked her into his expedition coat and checked to see how much progress Juliet had made. The progress bar was almost complete, he noted, as he joined the others heading to the shuttlecraft. Soon she'll be all the way home, he thought.

The next five days went by quickly for the colonel and the team. They recovered Golf Ball first, sealed inside his lifepod and tucked away in the station's storage cellar for later transport back to Tellar Prime or the Federation military cemetary on AR-558. They inspected the other four debris sites and thoroughly scanned and mapped them. Three turned out to be Jem'Hadar fighter craft, all complete with pilot (deceased) since the Founders didn't believe in lifepods. The fourth was not a fighter craft but it was Jem'Hadar. It was large judging by the size of its windshield which was the topmost part buried underneath the snow. When they had scraped the snow away enough to see inside, Fritz and Yolanda gave a small gasp followed by Aisling and Snorri as they looked over their shoulders. The colonel hadn't fought in the war but he had seen plenty of death. It wasn't the first mass burial he'd seen on a planet that was under the control of the Dominion during the war. The bodies thrown and jumbled about below them were all Jem'Hadar, but not soldiers. They must have been workers at the refinery trying to escape during the attack, the larger ship a Jem'Hadar shuttlecraft. The blast had caught them either fleeing to the refinery or from the refinery and had smashed and slammed them against each other and the interior of the shuttle, leaving them bleeding and broken-boned. Then Nature had slowy but surely covered them with a blanket of snow and ice without a sign to mark their resting place. The colonel crossed himself and silently said an Ave Maria for them. They left a scanning marker on the windshield and covered everything back over with snow. The Graves Registry branch would have to repatriate them.

On the next to last day the colonel joined Ituri, the station's hazardous material specialist, for his quarterly inspection of the refinery crater. They climbed into EVA suits kept for the purpose so that the colonel could safely go inside the zone of destruction centering on the refinery. Bluntschli shouldered a large wide-spectrum scanner and video camera for Ituri and Ituri carried a large specialized tricorder specially tuned for dangerous chemicals and toxins. "Someday", Ituri said, "this Ice Age will start to withdraw and this planet will be habitable with freshwater lakes and rivers. The witches' brew of chemicals frozen into the snow here can't be allowed to make their way into the ecosystem. I'm hoping whatever type of report you might make when you get back to Starfleet will bear witness to what you see here today". Ituri launched a slaved drone by hand and it rose into the air and moved ahead of them as they made their way along the southern edge toward the impact point of the avalanche. They passed along the string of ghostly, snow-shrouded bunkers that had once housed ground-based phasers protecting the refinery. The avalanche's remains formed a long ramp of tailings into the site and they scrambled up its rough side so that they could walk along it and look down into the site on either side and ahead straight to its center. The view was surrealy abstract to Bluntschli with shredded piping, ruptured tanks, concrete pounded to rubble, and steel girders melted into fantastical shapes, loops, triangles, and amorphous pools of cooled metal, all coated with snow and ice. "We need to be careful as we get closer to the center. The Jem'Hadar put most of their central blockhouse underground and the explosion collapsed all the buildings. There are too many hollows for us to walk anywhere but this strip or we'd risk falling through into an air pocket. Luckily their ketracel white storage tanks were underground and at the far edge of the ramp, Most of the toxic chemicals in the crater are precursors used in the refining process including the yrdium which is a heavy metal. Luckily the fusion generator capsules were stolen from the Federation so they were impervious to the blast effects, no lasting radiation effects". 

The colonel took in all the damage, imagining the deadly energies released, and realized that he had half expected to see enemy dead flash-frozen into statues in their last agony. He shook his head at his stupidity. Those that were in the open had most likely been vaporized and those that weren't were entombed under a layer of crushed concrete and metal. As they came to the bottom of the ramp the ketracel storage tanks came into view and a beaten path stretched out ahead of them. "The readings are much better this quarter than last" Ituri reported. "Some of the worst offenders are breaking down into their component parts".

"Indulge me, Ituri. Scan for any large deposits of duranium".

"Will do, Colonel". He punched in a few keys on his tricorder. "No large traces but there are numerous small traces, roughly 10-centimer at the largest." Ituri strode forward, waving the tricorder ahead of him, zeroing in on the largest trace displayed on his screen. They had passed through the center of the crater and on their way out. Still looking at his tricorder, he gingerly stepped off the trail and began clearing away the snow with the toe of his boot at a specific spot. He reached down, brushed away more snow with the edge of his glove, and picked up a rectangular metal plate from the ground, scorched and melted here and there along its edges. He smiled and handed it to Bluntschli. The colonel brushed the last traces of snow and ice off it and a wide grin appeared on his face.

"Its the serial no. plate from the BLU-82, the bomb the Saratoga dropped on the mountain up there. My dad said they had spraypainted "Remember Chin'toka" on the nose". He sighed and just then his exposure meter began chiming.

"Colonel, we're almost finished. We can take that with us". Ituri took the plate and put it into a decontamination bag and then led Bluntschli toward the silos and the point where they would exit at the other side of the crater. They walked slowly and carefully between the huge white humps of the silos which were laid out in geometrical lines like snow-covered headstones. They climbed up and out at the low end of the crater and back to their shuttlecraft. On the way back to the station, Ituri made a few slow passes over the crater and the colonel silently contemplated all the damage hidden underneath the thin blanket of white. Such a horrible wound to such a beautiful planet, he thought.

Back at the station, decontaminated and their data downloading to the main computer, the colonel began packing up his gear. The Aarhus would arrive in the afternoon in time for dinner and his farewell party, the crew would sleep over in the guest bunkroom, and he would leave with them tomorrow morning. He began to tuck the shuttlecraft plate into his father's journal he had found inside the bugout bag and then his curiosity got the better of him. He had to laugh at himself: Well, that's the other reason I ended up in Intelligence. He carefully undid the retention loop from the brass button on the leather front and cracked it open just a little, enough to see sketches, drawings, and cartoons that looked very, very familiar. In fact it reminded him, he laughed, of his own style when he was young. The apple hadn't fallen very far from the tree. Thumbing deeper into its pages, he found postcards, photos, and some of his own smaller drawings tucked in between short bits of prose. He suddenly felt the need to talk with his vatter and share this moment with him. Well, he thought, rank hath its privileges. He smiled as an idea came to him for the party and he took the journal with him to the workroom and quickly got to work scanning the pages into the new PADD-5. Once he was finished he fastened the journal shut and returned it to his room. "Jolie, record a message for me for subspace transmission via my personal secure channel. Address to Johannes and Juliette Bluntschli, Chalet le Mont Gris, Helvetia, Concord IV System". Jolie extended her sensor stalks and pointed them at the colonel. "Message follows: Gutendag, Mutter und Vatter. With the help of the park rangers here I was able to find Juliet and to recover all her memories from the battle backward. She wasn't where you thought she was, Papa, but I'll let her tell you where herself. We found your F-26 in a different location and we recovered Golf Ball nearby and brought him to the ranger station to wait for the Graves Registry Unit to arrive. I also found your bugout bag and your journal. I sneaked a peek at it and I'll keep it safe until I can hand it to you in person ... which should be in about a week. Tell Andrea and the twins I'll be home soon. End message. Transmit". As he finished talking he could hear a clatter of boots and laughing voices down the hall. He checked his chronometer and realized that time had gotten away from him. The noise must be the crew from the Aarhus arriving from the spaceport. Then he heard two very familiar voices from his childhood that didn't belong at the station and rushed into the hall to see if he was right. Which, to his delight, he was. He called to them and they put him in a bearhug and took turns tousling his brown mop of hair. "Little Johannes, my how you've grown!"

"Flammen, Citron! What are you doing here? Does Vatter know you're here?"

"Jah. He told us you were here. The Aarhus is a Maersk White Comet ship and since we're on the security staff, we just relieved two of the crewmen and deadheaded out to you". Bluntschli grinned from ear to ear as he looked them up and down. They looked fit and strong as ever, like twin Norse gods, one black-haired and one with dark copper hair and both with streaks of grey. They had even braided their hair like he had drawn them when he was a child. Instead of ancient armor they were wearing flight jackets which his professional eye told him had bulletproof liners. He greeted the same Aarhus crew that had dropped him off on Jotunhiem: the statuesque blond captain, the curvy brunette first mate, and the white-skinned Andorian science officer with the deep blue lips. It looked like everyone would have a dance partner for tonight's blowout. "Let me show you what I found", he said and led them into the workroom. As they entered the room, the PADD-5 welcomed them, "Captain Justivsen and Major Justivsen, welcome to Jotunheim".

They looked at each other and began laughing. "It's very good to hear you again, Juliet. Major Bluntschli is very happy that they found you", Flammen replied. "He has a cozy spot on his desk set aside for you and hopes you will help him make his hotel the most efficient and organized hotel in the canton". 

"I go where I can serve, Major. I am still Starfleet property and must wait for my new assignment".

"Major Bluntschli thought of that, Juliet", said Citron. He handed his titanium-clad PADD to young Bluntschli to read. "Juliet, your new orders have arrived. I am afraid Admiral Ukpik of the Quartermaster Corps has declared your old body obsolete and therefore surplus. The flight data recorder and it's contents, Juliet 1.0, are now the property of the Starfleet Corps of Engineers, Jotunheim Station, with a copy of its data to be transmitted to Memory Prime's military archives. Juliet 2.0 will accompany Colonel Bluntschli to Helvetia, Concordia system, and be returned to her author, Johannes Reinhard Bluntschli. You are permanently assigned to Major Bluntschli, retired, and are cleared to provide assistance to him and the Helvetian Armed Forces Planetary Guard without restriction and as he sees fit. Do you acknowledge these orders, Juliet?"

"Aye, aye, Major". The three of them smiled broadly and applauded loud and long. Over their clapping they heard their names being called to dinner by the rangers. They brought the two PADDs and the duranium ball since they were the guests of honor. They joined the others at a smorgasbord of food, some replicated, some brought by the two retired soldiers, some saved for a special occasion, and the last of Bluntschli's treats brought as gifts for the rangers. Fresh smoked salmon with dill, potato salad, butter cookies, and milk from Neu Danmarck; thick elk fillets and sweet potatoes from Trollheim; coffee, oranges, grapefuit, and grapes from Ruwenzori; vegetables, salad, and war-surplus fruitcake from Bifrost; a Parma ham, trout gravlax, chocolate truffles, and a bundt cake from Helvetia plus a presentation loaf of targ haggis and a bottle of Chateau Picard champagne for later. They talked while they ate, laughing between bites, snorting between sips. The rangers filled Flammen and Citron in on their hunt for Juliet and the two Neu Danes described what it was like to fight in the war and all the planets they'd traveled to afterward, worlds no longer under the thumb of the Sona'a and the Cardassians, some damaged by the war and some entirely ignorant of it. Starfleet had been very, very good to them and so was Maersk, the shipping line they worked for now. Finally, when everyone had pushed back from their plates, Fritz turned to the colonel and pinned him with a look. "You promised us a disco ball, Herr Bluntschli. It's time to fulfill your promise". A chorus of yeses went up from the table and the three crewmen began clapping in time as encouragement. "It just so happens", the colonel intoned seriously, "every Thursday night at my family's hotel is "Disco Night" so you may rely on me. Flammen, Citron, if you would assist me we will turn the breakroom into a "tres chic discotheque" for the night, so that we might dance our cares away". The two quickly assented and while the others cleaned up in the dining room, they shifted the furniture around in the breakroom, creating a dance floor ringed by chairs. Flammen and Citron carefully hung Juliet 1.0 from the central rafter with a length of climbing rope while the colonel unfolded Juliet 2.0 and Jolie on one of the side tables. "Jolie, execute holoprogram "Saturday Night Fever", volume at 50%. Juliet 2.0, execute holoprogram "Disco Ball, Chalet Mont Gris". Both PADDs extended their holospikes, one projecting the sound and the other projecting the light, each in sync with the other. 

"She's a brick ... house. She's mighty, mighty, just letting it all hang out. She's a brick ... house, that lady's stacked and that's a fact. She ain't holding nothin' back!" filled the room. The two older men began laughing, Citron saying "Your father used to rule 10-Forward on Thursday nights on the Saratoga. Old Earth just had the best music in the galaxy but he always started with this song and dedicated it to your mother!" The multi-colored lights bounced off Juliet 1.0's duranium shell as they turned down the overhead lights and filled the air with transparent gems in a rainbow of colors thrown against the ceiling, walls, and floor. The colonel called the rangers and the freighter crew in to begin the festivities. He set out cups for all those present and carefully popped open the large bottle of Helvetian champagne, filling each to the brim. Once everyone had a cup in their hand, he paused the music and lights and raised his cup. "To the merry band that inhabits this station and has helped me keep one of the most important promises I have ever made. To our guests of honor, Juliet 1.0 and now Juliet 2.0, who were comrades-in-arms to my father and brought him safely back to his family. To Jolie, who has done the same thing for me and my family as well. To Flammen and Citron and the crew of the Saratoga that fought so bravely and so long. To Golf Ball and Black Knight, and the others who went before them and the others who went after them to the Undiscovered Country. To my vatter, a new William Tell for this age und my mutter, who Juliet is named after and takes after. Prosit!" The company responded in a dozen flavors of salud!, skol!, chin chin! and took a long sip. Just as they finished, Jolie began to project the Federation seal rotating in mid-air, the sign that she was receiving a subspace message. The seal stopped turning and a message window opened up showing a still of a couple standing in front of a burning fireplace. The man, his father, stood ramrod straight in his now-baggy Starfleet uniform, his brown hair receding, with a black eyepatch over his right eye, the one with a detached retina, the injury which had ended his military career. The woman, his mother, with a short brown bob, wide white smile, and smoky blue eyes wore a Federation blue twin set and a navy dirndl skirt embroidered with constellations. Both had a small flute of champagne in their hands. The room quieted. "Jolie", Bluntschli said, "Play the message".

"Dear Johannes", his father said, "I thank you for rescuing my dear friend from her icy sleep. During the war she was my confidant, the repository of my fears and fondest dreams and my memories. In battle she was my strong right arm. Wilkommen, Juliet, we have a place ready for you here at the chalet. We raise a toast also to the hardworking young people who have helped find you; may you have more adventures and help more people. Flammen und Citron, you are always welcome at our door; come see us soon. Finally, to Golf Ball and Black Knight and our other absent friends: you are gone but you are not forgotten". The two raised their fluted glasses and sipped. His mother ended the message by saying, "Andrea, Johannes, and Maria send their love and want you home soon". She blew the colonel a kiss and his father waved goodbye. Jolie said "Message complete, no more messages". 

Flammen and Citron both clapped him on the back. With a smile Citron said "Well done, oh dutiful son. Well done". Flammen said, "Let the celebration begin" and the two PADDs resumed the music and lights, and looks of amazement and amusement came over the younger partygoers. More champagne was poured, more music was played. "Disco Inferno", "I Will Survive", "If I Can't Have You", "More Than a Woman", "Celebrate Good Times", "You Dropped a Bomb on Me", "Get Down Tonight", and other ancient but blood-stirring tunes with a foot-tapping beat. Flammen and Citron danced a perfectly mirrored version of "Staying Alive" that wowed everybody. By the end of the night, the champagne bottle was empty, Snorri and the Aarhus' science officer were belt buckle to belt buckle and antennae to antennae, Yolanda was jealously stroking Flammen's thick red braid, Aisling and Hamish were snogging in a dark corner, Citron and the freighter captain were feeding each other orange slices, and the curvy first mate was sitting on Ituri's lap and thanking Fritz for inviting them by nibbling on his ear. The colonel had just finished explaining to Fritz that The Commodores weren't actually commodores and that Parliament wasn't actually a group of politicians when the last song on the playlist began playing. "Homeward bound / I wish I was, homeward bound / Home where my thought's escaping / Home where my music's playing / Home where my love lies waiting / Silently for me". Jolie streamed pictures his father had stored with Juliet on the wall screen, images from the pages of his father's journal spliced together with photos of Alpha Flight, photos of the Saratoga's crew, sketches of friends and food, silent video of karaoke nights in 10-Forward, and finally sketches and photos of his own family with himself getting younger and younger in each one until the last photo which was only his mother and father on their wedding day. His father stood tall and straight with his thick brown hair and long sideburns, sharp in his Marine blues. His mother was caught in mid-laugh squeezing his father's waist and adorable in her nurse's whites. After the last note played, everyone caught their breath as if a spell had been broken, and then quickly picked up their trash and empty bottles for recycling the next day. Fritz and Ituri took down Juliet 1.0 from the ceiling while the colonel folded up both of the PADDs. He put both of them on the charging pad so that they'd be ready for the trip the next day. Hugs and kisses were exchanged and the tired but happy participants trooped off to bed. Flammen and Citron took up their cots in Bluntschli's guest room and despite the excitement of the day and their departure the next morning, all three fell into a deep sleep. 

That night Bluntschli dreamed, replaying the images and action that Juliet had recorded before and during the battle. He felt omniscient, seeing every part of the battlefield, from the Saratoga and the mothership down to the refinery and the fighter craft. He could see it and almost feel it even though he couldn't hear it. At the point where the Saratoga leapt to warp speed, he felt the stars streak across the space in front of him as if he were acelerating. He smiled to himself and slipped over the edge of conciousness into a deep drift of sleep.

Personal Log, Stardate 2390-06-09, Colonel Johannes Wilhelm Bluntschi speaking. Woke up to Jolie playing the William Tell Overture over my combadge ... which resulted in me being pelted with pillows by Flammen and Citron. A busy morning in the communal showers, followed by a cup of espresso sipped while watching the sun come up over the mountains, warm bagels and smoked lox around a dinner table circled by cheerful faces. Packed the girls up and gave Juliet 1.0 a goodbye hug. The rangers gave me my expedition jacket as a going away gift making me an honorary ranger. My name was embroidered onto the front pocket, patches from their home planets ran down one sleeve, and they had signed their initials in big black marker beneath them. We said our goodbyes and Fritz and Snorri flew the Aarhus crew and I back to the spaceport to catch a transporter back up into orbit. I commandered the "shotgun" seat and poked Jolie and Juliet's sensor stalks out of the kangaroo pocket so that they could capture the white snow dunes flowing beneath us, like some of the wilder places back home. I teased Fritz just a little more on the way and he took it in good stride. He did wonder about one thing though. What? I asked. He asked why my father hadn't had his eye repaired after the war. I had to laugh but I let him in on the secret: my father had his eye rebuilt after other, more badly injured veterans on Helvetia had been taken care of. In the mean time he had returned home to help my grandfather run the family hotel. Not surprisingly, the female guests found his eyepatch quite dashing and quite intriguing while the male guests wanted to hear his tales of real-life derring-do in the War. It was a great "icebreaker" so he did fix the eye but he kept the eyepatch which was designed to be seen through. I got a laugh out of Fritz at that and Snorri took his eyes off the Aarhus' science officer long enough to bark out a laugh. Soon we were setting down on the landing apron beside the plain concrete dome of the spaceport. We shook hands with the rangers and scooted into the dome. The plump, balding portmaster welcomed me and the others back and while we were lining up on the cargo transporter, he asked me if I had found what I was searching for. I said, Yes, yes I did. And just in time for Father's Day. He smiled and said "Good!" and then "Energizing". Back on the Aarhus, I stood looking down on Jotunheim, thinking that for a big, white snowball hanging in space, it had very warm people on it. I will have to come back some day and bring my skis with me. End personal log; it's time to go home . . . all of us.

\-- The End --


	2. The Writing of a Star Trek Short Story: BLACK BOX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An article for the SFMC 3Bde newsletter Cry Havoc! on how to write a story like Black Box.

The Writing of a Star Trek Short Story:  
BLACK BOX

by

COL Max "Mariachi" Triola (SCC 67845)  
302nd Marine Strike Group, USS Zavala

(January 2019)

black box - (noun) 1. a self-contained unit in an electronic or computer system whose inner workings need not be known to understand its function; 2. an informal name for flight data recorder or flight voice recorder (which see).

This past summer I submitted a short story to the SFMCA School of Aerospace as my project to finish my last course in the school, AE-301, the Independent Study Project. I thought prose fiction would be easier than a technical paper which would require engineering skills I don't have or a graphic presentation which would require artistic skills I've never developed. I had done some writing in the past including the profile of a fictional ship's officer on the Zavala to be used as an example for a role-playing game. During the writing of Black Box, I also wrote a short profile of The Horse Marines and a short article on the MSG's "future" commissioning day. Little did I know that writing just one short story would take me so long to do. In the end, though, it was worth it and I hope to continue crafting stories in the Trek Universe. This article is meant to make it easier for you to write a story of your own, short or long, for the SFMC Academy, for your ship's newsletter or webpage, or just to share with your shipmates and friends.

What was my inspiration? The course requirements dictated the specific area that the story would focus on: Starfleet Marine spacecraft and either their future history or their avionics. I'm also deeply interested in forensic investigation techniques applied to crime-solving but which, sadly, more and more are being used to determine the cause of plane crashes and locating missing planes. A central element of these investigations is the "black box", also known as the Flight Data Recorder or the Flight Voice Recorder. The black box captures the final minutes of conversation in the cockpit and data gathered by the craft's sensors, for minutes or even hours before disaster or accident overtakes it and its passengers. If the craft doesn't stream this information back to a base of operations, the black box might provide the only record of whether a plane crashed due to pilot error, equipment failure, a force of nature, or worst of all, terrorism and even suicide. Black boxes are becoming standard equipment in a wide range of vehicles and locomotives for this reason. "The evidence never lies" but people often do. The black box is built to survive conditions that will destroy the craft it is on and kill everyone aboard. It serves to speak for the dead and the injured and for the craft itself. In the final analysis, it allows pilots, organizations, and manufacturers to make flying safer and more secure in the future. 

So what would a black box look like in the far future? It would have to be strong enough to survive ejection into outer space, an airless microgravity environment. It would need to be strong enough to endure intense gravity, radiation, electrical, and chemical exposure then possible re-entry into a planet's atmosphere. Using the specs in the SFMC Arms & Equipment Manual section on fighter craft and taking advantage of the incredible reach of the Internet, I researched the current state of the art for real-life black boxes including the recent work on black boxes for spacecraft involving improvement of their heat shield's strength. Then I just applied some common sense and extrapolated. When positing a future device, I try to imagine it as being as user-friendly and as simple as possible.

Where did I get the idea for the plot, the recovery of a black box lost during the Dominion War? I'm a particular fan of the sci-fi author H. Beam Piper whose work was often based on historical events such as the Cargo Cult (The Cosmic Computer) and the Sepoy Mutiny (Uller Uprising) set in a future interstellar Federation. I drew on past events such as the rediscovery of the "Lost Squadron" in Greenland in 1992, the suicide of USAF Capt. Craig Button in 1997, and the continuing return to Texas of the remains of American aviators lost during WWII and recovered from remote areas around the Pacific. I had considered making the plot about the recovery of a father's remains by a dutiful son, mainly in order to spring a surprise ending on the reader but the characters and the situation dictated that the story take a straighter course. The WWII movie "The Dam Busters", an episode of "Foyle's War" titled "Casualties of War" involving WWII bomb development, and "Force 10 from Navarone" and "The Heroes of Telemark" also provided elements. I had considered mirroring the storyline of the movie "Sole Survivor". The story follows the discovery in the 1960s of a WWII bomber which is being haunted by its late crew, their ghosts watching living military officers inspect the wreckage. As each ghost's remains are recovered they disappear into the afterlife. William Shatner starred in the film as the LTC in command of the investigation. The film was based on the real story of the bomber "Lady Be Good" which was lost in the Libyan desert after its one and only bombing mission over Italy. Its pilots mistook the sparkle of the Libyan desert sand at night for the surface of the Mediterranean gleaming in the moonlight and overshot their airfield. While it didn't supply the plot for Black Box, it was a major influence. Wikipedia at en.wikipedia.org had clear concise entries on the events and movies that I drew from as well as the technology that goes into a black box.

How did I choose the time period and the location in interstellar space? The black box would be lost during a time of war comparable to the War in the Pacific: multiple battles spread over a long period of time and a wide swath of territory with very few inhabitants. The Dominion War fit the bill and I've always had a preference for the DS9 / Voyager era. One of the characters in the story, the ship's armorer Triolus, is basically an alter ego for me if I ever begin role-playing. A turning point in Triolus' life is the death of his second wife during the battle of AR-558 and the later recovery of her remains. During Triolus' childhood he and his father traveled throughout this region of space so I was familiar with it through research to create his backstory. The location of Jotunheim in Son'a-occupied space was meant to distance it from the main battlefields around DS9, Bajor, and Cardassia so that I wouldn't be bumping up against the main stream of canon Trek and I could fill in an empty niche. A fantastic source for timelines is Memory Alpha at memory-alpha.org including pages for each individual year with links to event descriptions. If you need information on a major or minor character, a starship, an alien race, or an alien planet, you can find it in Memory Alpha. You can also use Memory Beta at memory-beta.wikia.com which covers characters, races, planets, and events that occur in any of the Star Trek novels and books. I highly recommend both as a resource but beware: they are incredibly addictive.

How did I develop the characters of Colonel Bluntschli, the starship USS Saratoga-B, and Major Bluntschli's squadron? I borrowed the name Bluntschli from the anti-jingoism play "Arms & The Man" by George Bernard Shaw and some of the aspects of the character: he's Swiss, he's a soldier with no romantic illusions about war or chivalry, he's the son of a hotelier. John McPhee's excellent "The Place de la Place de Concorde" and his description of the post-WWII Swiss Army influenced my choice. Why a colonel and why in Intelligence? The character has to have pull and seniority in a war-ravaged Federation (Dominion War, Final Borg Invasion, Typhon Pact) to travel on his own to a planet which is a former war zone in a backwater area. Intelligence officers and inspectors general also are often tasked with fact-finding trips to remote areas by their superiors and travel on their own much like in "Sole Survivor". The USS Saratoga-B is a nod to the USS Saratoga, Benjamin Sisko's previous ship which was lost during the Battle of Wolf 359. Flammen and Citron of Neue Danmarck are named in honor of 2 famous Danish Resistance fighters of the Holger Danske organization. Their particular duty was to "eliminate" Danes who collaborated with the Nazis; they died together resisting arrest by the Gestapo. The major's callsign of "William Tell" is a nod to his Helvetian heritage. 

Why Jotunheim and why a park ranger station? The Lost Squadron was buried under 265 feet of snow after 50 years so I imagined a world undergoing an Ice Age much like Earth did and with a terrain much like the Swiss Alps, Norway, or Greenland. Bluntschli's "lost squadron" has lain undisturbed for only 15 years covered by a soft layer of snow during each of those years. This would preserve the fighter craft as opposed to the typical location of recovered WWII and Vietnam War-era lost craft: rocky mountainsides and tropical jungles exposed to extremes of weather, invasive plants, and animal predation. The park rangers and their station provide the colonel with a base of operations and ready and willing assistants. I thought it was only logical that the Federation would try and guard the site against scavengers and thrill-seekers. In a case of art imitating art, the most intriguing idea in Spider-Man: Homecoming is a gang that scavenges and then uses or sells ultra-deadly alien weapons and technology littering New York City in the aftermath of the Avengers' Battle of New York. Besides the resemblance to where the Lost Squadron landed and was later recovered, Jotunheim also is a stand-in for Telemark where the Nazis built a factory to create "heavy water" or deuterium, an isotope of hydrogen used in H-bombs. The crippling of that factory by Norwegian resistance fighters made it difficult to impossible for the Nazis to develop their own hydrogen bomb which is much stronger than an atomic bomb. In this story, crippling the Dominion's supply of ketracel white for its Jem’Hadar helps accelerate the war's end.

Do Blu-82's actually exist in this day and age? Yes. They were used during the Vietnam War to create landing fields in the jungle; they were nicknamed "daisy cutters" for the shape of their blast area. During the invasion of Iraq they were used for "shock and awe" and to destroy huge sand berms and collapse them onto the Iraqi ground troops sheltering behind them. British SAS scouts in the vicinity radioed back that the US had dropped nuclear bombs on the Iraqi Army. Accounts have described the Blu-82 as being the size of a Volkswagen Beetle and that it literally is pushed out the back of a cargo plane, not dropped from a bomber. Does the Black Archive really exist? No, I made that up, drawing from Larry Niven's The Long ARM of Gil Hamilton. Hamilton is the agent of a futuristic United Nations police force known as ARM whose main job is to tamp down dangerous inventions that could serve as weapons in the wrong hands. During the 1980s, a student at Rutgers University submitted a paper to his professor that basically was a home recipe for creating an atomic bomb based on public sources and his informed speculation. His paper was startlingly accurate to the point that the Department of Energy had to classify it and suppress its publication. The use of knowledge as a weapon is a central theme of one of my most re-read sci-fi novels, Not For Glory by Daniel Rosenberg. In one of the chapters, Mark Twain's Life on the Mississippi provides the key to defeating a rebellion. In the future, I suspect that the Federation's Memory Prime will have its restricted stacks and the Federation will have its own Warehouse 13 or Hangar 18.

Whatever you do, however you use the ideas outlined here, write about what you're interested in and what you know. If you have to steal, steal from the best. Try not to write yourself into a corner or go too deep into the nuts and bolts with your character's backstory or your location's worldbuilding. If there's a Star Trek episode that's a favorite of yours that you would like to expand beyond the end credits, give it a try. Memory Alpha includes production notes by the team that wrote and produced any given episode including comments on why certain plot choices were made and certain scenes were deleted. Sometimes episodes are meant to set up future episodes or story arcs or future character development. Also look up the entry for "Mary Sue" in Wikipedia: this will help you develop your characters without making them a cliche. I have always hated when authors and producers introduce omniscient and omnipotent beings as villains and I feel the same about all-knowing, unblemished heroes. There should be no hint of "deus ex machina" where an unexpected force or background character saves the day with no foreshadowing or build-up within the story. In the end, just enjoy yourself as if you're the only one who will ever read your story. If you aren't sure whether you should share it, just remember that the world will never stop needing more Star Trek stories. Just make it a good one.

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